Hold your breath and count to ten
by missMHO
Summary: /00Q - Skyfall/ A series of (mostly unrelated) oneshots about 007 and his Quartermaster. New stories will be added whenever I feel like writing some.
1. My king, my love

_This story was already posted by me on AO3 some time ago (under the same username). Just decided now to add it here as a part of series of short stories.  
Just wanted to make that point clear and I've already been accused of stealing my own story once._

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_Written for AU prompt by _third-star-till-the-morning_ on tumblr: _

**_Q is the king. Smart and powerful. James is his best knight._**

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**My king, my love**

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No one ever questioned King's quirks, though the court and servants could not simply overlook them. Nevertheless, if they were ever spoken about, it was only in whispers. Q was a noble and wise monarch, respected by his subjects, so any uncomplimentary words were never spoken out loud.

The biggest of gossip was about his favoured knight. The Seventh of Double-Oh-Nine, King's private division that was a source of mystery and a bit of indignation since its birth. Sir Bond, one of the Nine, was always put first by the peculiar but admired King.

The Seventh was always seated by the monarch during the feasts and was his most trusted advisor, although he was never officially appointed as one of the royal council.

But the quietest whispers were about Sir Bond's visits to King's chambers after dark.

As it happened also this night, Bond was pacing down the hallway without his armour, only dressed in rich raiment. In the corridor of royal bedrooms, he met young servant girl. She started when she noticed him and then blushed as he grinned at her with slight bow. The girl's steps became hurried as she recoiled from his sight. King often reprimanded him for startling the servants.

The Seventh knocked three times and entered the chambers.

Q was sitting in the chair in the corner of the room - dressed in night gowns, his hair in wild curls without the crown weighting them down. In such state, he looked younger than he was in reality. He was one of those monarchs who came to rule at very young age. Still, Q was one to gain love and respect swiftly. With his blue blood, he had inherited a skill of managing people, regarding his misleading appearance of harmless boy. He has a sparkle in his eyes that made people obedient and conspicuous self-confidence.

"Good evening, James," said the King, eyeing the man in front of him.

"Good evening, my King," he replied as he took a deep bow.

Q nodded towards the table next to him. "Pour me some wine."

Bond took the golden goblet and filled it with sweet tipple, feeling king's gaze on himself all along. Q took the goblet from knight's hand, brushing their fingers teasingly.

"I noticed you had enjoyed the company of one of the maids during today's feast."

"I cannot deny that, my King."

Q took the long sip from the goblet. "Do you intend to court her, Sir Bond?"

"You sincerely must know that I do not hold such intention towards any woman."

King smiled satisfied.

"Kneel," came the command. Bond dropped to his knees, knowing what was coming next. Monarch's hand dived into short blond hair and the knight couldn't suppress a smile. He knew he was the only one to kneel before Q in such intention as tonight – and as many other preceding encounters.

"Do you love your king, Sir James?"

"You know I do, _my_ King. As no other does in your kingdom."

ж

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_Also available in German: s/8696969/1/Mein-König-mein-Geliebter_


	2. Miles and poles apart

_This story was already posted by me on AO3 some time ago (under the same username). Just decided now to add it here as a part of series of short stories.  
Just wanted to make that point clear and I've already been accused of stealing my own story once._

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_**What if Q did go to Macau instead of Moneypenny?**_

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**Miles and poles apart**

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The knock on the door was definitely a surprise.

Bond took the gun and was approaching the entrance cautiously, when the voice on the other side said mockingly 'Room service?'. He knew that voice.

"I didn't order anything. Not even you," he answered in a matching mocking manner.

Q smiled, almost indulgingly. This time he wasn't wearing that ridiculous parka from the gallery. His white shirt (that would look quite decent if it wasn't so crumpled) had three top buttons undone and he was holding dark blue cardigan in his hand.

"I have got some new information."

"Aren't you a little overqualified to be delivering messages?" Bond recoiled to his previous place in front of the mirror. Q entered the room and threw the cardigan onto the nearest chair. The heat was visibly disturbing him, his hair curling even more wildly.

"I guess you can't acquire a decent cup of Earl Grey around here?" Q asked, looking around, like he was actually expecting the tea to materialize in front of him. Bond snorted and started applying the shaving cream to his jaw.

"Do not laugh at me, 007. You should genuinely appreciate my arrival here. I _detest_ flying," the quartermaster alleged. He crossed his arms on his chest. "So, whoever stole the list, has already decrypted it. They posted first five names on the web."

"Well, that was only a matter of time," the agent commented. He observed in the mirror how the younger man's eyes unashamedly followed the lines of muscles on his back, lingering more than once. He suppressed a smile and finished with the shaving cream.

"Well, that's just the start. They're posting five more next week and the week after. It's some kind of sadistic game."

Bond sighed.

He wondered what kind of game two of them were playing right now – it started then, in the gallery, with a exchange of retorts that could not be mistaken for anything else than flirting - but Bond was still unsure of the rules or the aim.

When he grasped his razor, Q smirked and approached him slowly.

"Cut-throat razor. How very traditional."

"Well, I do prefer to do some things the old-fashioned way," he replied and turned around. It took him two steps to invade the quartermaster's personal space and extend the razor in his direction.

"You assume I will counter your little invitation? I must have misled you to believe my hands are capable of harnessing computers only."

Bond smiled widely as Q took the blade.

The agent was not entirely sure how all this ended up with him still only in a towel and the young technical genius between his legs, kneeling in front of him with a cut-throat razor hovering above the agent's skin.

"You didn't come here to shave me, Q. M had already filled me in with the situation."

Q smiled at the indirect question as he made first move with the razor. His hand was steady - like shaving double-oh agents was an obligatory skill for a quartermaster.

"I was sent here _instead _of your almost-killer. I believe you would prefer _her_ company better, but M insisted."

Bond contemplated the elliptic utterance for a few seconds.

"M must have been sure _you_ would not spy for Mallory."

"It seems so."

Q positioned the razor above agent's other cheek and squinted his eyes a little in concentration. Bond could count his eyelashes now if he wanted to. He wondered again how did he end up in that situation. This smooth skin (definitely without spots, though with few moles which trail begged to be followed with tongue) was making his fingertips burning, those cheeky lips tempting him since their first meeting. Before, he was effectively hiding his bisexualism from MI6, sleeping with (too many) women on his missions, but it looked like his new quartermaster's purpose was to expose him. This bloody too-young prodigy with ridiculous hair and posh accent.

Q smirked when the agent started undoing the rest of the buttons of his crumpled shirt.

"Don't move, 007. Now comes the tricky part."

Bond felt the shiver along his spine when the blade was sliding upward the skin of his throat. And it was definitely not driven by fear.

Q placed the cut-throat razor on the floor and wiped the remnants of shaving cream off agent's face. There was a playful sparkle in his eyes - he thought this was a game Bond would not dare to play.

He must have forgotten 007 was never one to resist his desires.

Bond leaned in and connected their lips. He could feel the smile on Q's lips before he bit the other man's lower lip to access his mouth with his tongue. The tension building inside of him up to this moment was overwhelming and when the younger man reciprocated with the same ardour, he wasn't planning on stopping himself from doing _everything_ he could think of to this mischievous youngster.

ж

"You look really good in that suit. You should wear them more often."

"You don't need to compliment me, 007. You already seduced me into your bed."

"Are you sure you should be here, Q? This isn't sitting in front of a screen and pushing magic buttons. Certainly, M didn't oblige you to actually follow me around. "

"I was told to help. Do worry about yourself - _you_ tend to die recently."

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"Thank you," said Bond as he was climbing up from the reptile recess. He was actually positively surprised about Q's rescue - he did associate the young genius with something more neat than breaking someone's arm with briefcase full of money.

"Have you just fed a bloody Komodo dragon with the gun I gave you?"

Bond smiled presumptuously and then shook his head when Q wanted to hand him the briefcase.

"Have some fun. That's what people do from time to time."

"I'm not going to forgive you losing that gun just because you gave me a briefcase of Euros, 007."

ж

Later, when Q was on the plane back to London, his hand kept coming back to his collarbone, where he still felt the bruise the agent's teeth left.

It was supposed to be one-time thing, 'having fun from time to time'. But when he recalled the look 007 gave him as a goodbye, it seemed like the agent was eager to continue their peculiar game.

He smiled at the thought.


	3. time jumbled our steps

_**Alternate Universe - Sentinels & Guides**_

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**time jumbled our steps (it has cat green eyes like yours)  
**

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Bond is sitting in the dark of the soundproof room in the Medical of MI-6 headquarters. His wounds have been tended and he was given a sedative that should soothe his senses.

He feels on the verge of losing his mind.

His head is pounding, skin feels like it's on fire and unbearable weight on his chest is making him suffocate. He feels so helpless, he almost wants to zone out if that would stop all _this_.

M is dead and it is his fault. Everyone he ever truly cared about is now dead, his home burnt down and he can't even control his senses. His Sentinel nature is betraying him again and this time, he doesn't possess any more will to fight.

There're steps outside the room and he isn't supposed to perceive the sound of them, he shouldn't, he is in a room made especially for Sentinels on the verge of zoning out. Even though, he makes those imaginary steps centre of his attention and tries to overfocus his hearing.

_Let me zone out and never wake up._

He hears a _meow_ in the corner of the room and startles, trying to make out any shape in the darkness. It's soon followed by another one, almost scolding.

He must have finally lost it.

The meowing doesn't stop and it feels like ages. It's the only variable thing in this void and he can't tune it out.

He breaks out of the room after the aeon of struggle and this _damned meowing_.

The cat is sitting in front of the door, his tail swaying in amusement as he watches the Sentinel. He has very svelte figure, even for a cat, his fur is grey and eyes are of impossible shade of green. Those eyes remind him of somebody...

Cat purrs almost approvingly and starts pacing towards the end of the corridor. When stunned Bond doesn't follow him, this furry nuisance looks back and once again meows at him. The Sentinel laughs with sick desperation. Cats can't make scolding sounds. That's ridiculous. And with that thought, he follows.

He drags his feet behind him and leans on the wall to keep vertical position. His grey guide stops from time to time to check if Bond is still trailing. Sentinel isn't really sure why he does it at all. Maybe because that keeps the cat quiet, maybe because something inside of him actually seems to pull him towards, maybe because when you no longer have any purpose in life, following a scolding cat seems appealing.

He realizes he arrived at Q-Brach when the silent hum of a single computer fills his ears.

Q turns around abruptly the moment Sentinel lays his eyes on him.

"007?" he says shocked, approaching him hurriedly. He lets Bond lean on his fragile figure and starts steering him towards the nearest door. The cat sits on the nearby desk and purrs, visibly pleased.

"Is this your bloody cat? It wouldn't stop making noise until I followed him," the Sentinel says as they enter some room. It must be where the employees of Q-Branch spend their breaks, there're cupboards there, a table dotted with mugs, a couple of chairs and a huge couch. The latter is where both of them finally end up.

"Is it even allowed to keep pets here?" he's mumbling when Q puts him to lay on the couch with agent's head on younger man's lap. "It shouldn't be, you know how they can irritate Sentinels' senses?" he keeps talking when slender delicate fingers are buried in his short hair.

He looks up at the pale face above him, green eyes gazing into him with unbearable fondness. It was his eyes that the cat reminded him of.

Suddenly, Bond realizes how his senses calmed down since he entered Q-Branch. There's a presence that seems to swathe him, fills him with tranquillity and hope for better. It makes him feel at peace, like he hasn't felt for _years_.

The realization hits him and he would probably stand abruptly and start pacing calling himself stupid, _if_ he wasn't feeling _so_ _comfortable._

"You're a Guide," he says instead, crossing his gaze with Q. The green-eyed man smiles sadly and nods, his hands still stroking Sentinel's hair, projecting the serenity towards wrecked agent.

His senses are settling and sharpening, like they hadn't in months and—

_Oh_.

This irresistible pull, the need to claim and protect, the need to bond – seeming to crawl out of his very being, when the fog tethering his senses finally thinned. He takes a deep breath and Q's scent is filling him, every fibre of his body. He hasn't felt it since Vesper and it's almost like coming home after long tiring journey; like resurrecting.

"You're _my_ Guide," he says like Q is something precious because he _is_. "This damned cat is your spirit, isn't it? It guided me to you."

In response, Q takes a deep breath and makes a sound that Bond can't define, he can't tell if it was a chuckle or a sob and it irritates him.

"You need to rest," the green-eyed quartermaster says and plants a ghost of a kiss on Bond's forehead. He falls asleep almost immediately, mantled in the presence of the Guide.

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_This is actually a sneak peek of my longer multi-chapter fanfiction I'm working on right now._

_The full story can be read on AO3: _archiveofourown**[**.**]**org**[**/**]**works**[**/**]**627305_  
(just remove the bolded brackets in the link above)_


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